


Drink Me In, America

by Tyranno



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Culture Shock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8850271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: An old friend from Jake's past comes back to haunt him, but in a totally good, non-literal and welcome way.





	1. Chapter 1

“Ach, Hallo. Excuse me?”

Amy Santiago looked up. A man stood tentatively a step from the front of her desk, hands clasped together. He had a heavy overcoat, under which he wore what looked like a dancer's costume, sheer white lyrca that glimmered with a sheen of near-invisible rhinestones that gleamed whenever he moved. When he noticed her staring he pulled the coat around him a little more.

“Yes, sorry, how may I help you?” Amy asked, “Are you here to report a crime?”

“Yes, yes,” The man said, “So—”

“Tomas!” Jake leaped up from his chair and dashed to Amy's desk.

“Jake!” The man engulfed Jake in a hug, nearly lifting him off the ground. He set him down and gave him a kiss on both cheeks. “It is good to see you, eh, mein alt freund?”

Jake flushed.

“You two know each other?” Amy asked, frowning a little.

“Yes, yes,” The man, Tomas, wrapped an arm around Jake's shoulders, “From long time ago.”

Jake turned his head away, heat rising up his neck. “It was before the academy.”

“Well,” Amy pulled her pad out of a draw and opened it to a new page. “You said you had a crime to report?”

Tomas patted Jake's head and released him, before taking a seat beside Amy's desk. “Yes,” He said, any hint of humor vanishing from his face as his dark eyebrows furrowed. He pulled a glossy photo from his heavy coat, which he passed to Amy. “This is my new partner for dancing.”

The woman in the photo was tall, tan and thin, hair a bloom of blue curls that cascaded down her back. The photo caught her mid-laugh, her white teeth gleaming. “She's pretty,” Amy said, honestly.

“Ja, but I was immediately suspicious,” He tapped her arms, “She is no dancer. Thin, yes, muscular? No. I have never seen her dance, so I did not know for sure, but you understand this was very important for me, I have been rehearsing for months and this is my first contract with the New York Ballet Society—”

“You do ballet?” Amy blurted out.

“Yes?” Tomas asked, confused.

“Oh,” Amy said, glancing at Tomas's broad frame, “You don't look much like a ballerina.”

“No,” Tomas agreed, patiently, “Ballerina is girls. I am a man.”

“Oh, yes, I know,” Amy said, “It's just—”

“Tomas can you continue?” Jake interrupted.

“Well, yesterday, I wanted to ask for a rehearsal, so I visited her apartment. But she was not there, and I did not trust her. So I...” Tomas frowned for a moment, “Stuck around? Is that the phrase?”

Jake nodded.

“I stuck around and saw her return, and leave after a moment. So I followed her, and she wasn't going to the dance studio, instead to an abandoned hotel,” Tomas sighed, “After she left, I went into to investigate. It was a 'shit tonne' of marijuana.”

“A weed farm?” Amy asked.

“Yes,” Tomas said, “but you need to investigate soon. The first scheduled rehearsal is tomorrow. If she is a fake dancer, she will be gone by then.”

 

*

 

Amy kept a keen eye on Tomas's little black mini as it drove on ahead of them, twisting deftly through the heavy Brooklyn traffic. The afternoon sun streamed over the open street, and the sky was a bright, beautiful blue. The trees they passed were the only signs of the approaching winter, bare and slightly sad looking.

“Soooo,” Amy said, overtaking a slow van, “Tomas, huh?”

“What about him?” Jake asked, in mock-confusion.

“Come on Jake, don't play hard to get,” Amy said, “I hardly ever get to tease you about your obvious crushes, you have to give me a fair shot on this one.”

“Two things,” Jake said, “One—I do _not_ have a crush on Tomas, Two—I can tell you are out of practice, you're doing a terrible job at making fun of me.”

“I disagree with both of those,” Amy said, curtly, “Besides, you were blushing so bad when he kissed you.”

“I was not!”

“Were too! You practically fainted,” Amy followed the little black mini off the main road and onto a smaller road, “How do you know him anyway?”

“Well,” Jake stretched out in the passenger seat, “not that it's _any_ of your business… Tomas and I had a… relationship. When we were teenagers. But he had to leave for Germany and we broke it off.”

Amy smirked a little, “You thinking of starting it up again?”

“What? No,” Jake scoffed, “That was a long time ago! Besides, we're a lot older now, we've probably changed way too much.”

“C'mon Jake,” Amy said, “We both know you're going through a bit of a dry patch—”

“Look his car is stopping!” Jake pointed out loudly, “Let's get out of the car and pretend this conversation never happened!”

Amy rolled her eyes and parked quickly before jumping out of the car and slipping with practiced ease into work mode. The hotel door caved in with one sharp kick and she swung around the entrance, gun and flashlight raised.

There was a dozen rows of potted marijuana plants, as well as racks of the plants across nearly every wall. The sudden heat made Amy blink and she shook her head sharply. The men inside paused, watching her. Tomas was right—this was a big bust.

“NYPD! Freeze!” She shouted. They scattered. She glanced at Jake and the pair split up, knocking into the first guys they met.

Jake knocked the first one down with relative success and was running after a second when suddenly he was tackled from the side, the wind knocked out of him. He struggled, pulling at the man's arms, trying to bring up his leg to kick him.

There was a whump and the man was lifted off him like a rag doll and Jake saw Tomas lift the man, tossing him into the nearest rack of marijuana plants. Tomas had lost his jacket, and the sheer white of his costume in the low light highlighted every shadow in sharp relief across his solid chest. The costume made him look like a gleaming Greek statue come to life, chiseled muscles moving like liquid underneath the nylon.

Damn! He hated it when Amy was right.

 

*

 

“Thank you Tomas,” Amy said, passing him a cup of coffee. They were back at the precinct, and it had taken a refreshingly short time to get the perps to confess. “You really saved our asses out there.”

Tomas smiled and accepted the coffee. “It was something any person would do.”

“Maybe,” Amy said, glancing over at Jake, “But we—well _Jake_ —really wanted to thank you.”

Tomas turned expectantly to Jake, who was shooting Amy warning looks.

“In fact Jake wanted to take you out for drinks later,” Amy said.

“Ah Jake,” Tomas smiled at him, “That is nice of you. You don't have to.”

“One moment, Tomas,” Jake said, “Amy can I talk to you privately for a second?”

Amy followed Jake out of the break room and into the bullpen. “What are you doing Jake?! I totally gave you a chance to get your teeth into him.”

“Ok first, ew,” Jake said, “Secondly he doesn't even like me!”

“He kissed you!” Amy snapped.

“He's european!” Jake snapped back, “It's like a handshake over there.”

Amy sighed.

“Please stop trying to kickstart my sex life,” Jake pleaded, “It's gross.”

“Go out with him anyway,” Amy folded her arms, “It'll be fun anyway. Catching up with an old friend.”

Jake rolled his eyes, but finally nodded.

 

*

 

Tomas was, if nothing else, fun to drink with. Or, more accurately, fun to drink around, since Tomas was a ballet dancer and therefore had a strictly regulated diet, but for all that he seemed endlessly patient and interesting.

Jake told him all the usual cop stories he told dates, and Tomas was unusually receptive audience—he would gasp at the shocking parts, watch tensely when things turned for the worst, always applauding at the end—to the point where Jake found it off-setting at first, but after a few stories Jake found himself pouring his acting talent into the stories, really selling them, to see how expressive a response he could get. In return Tomas told him about ballet; about demanding directors and overworked rookies, about dancing on broken ankles and spending eight hours practicing and being totally unable to walk the next day.

After a few hours, Jake was pleasantly buzzed, teetering on the precipice of drunk. If he was with anyone else he could probably still be drinking, but Tomas had steered him out of the bar with a concerned look,

The evening was fresh and cold, and Jake felt himself sobering up. It was dark, and would probably frost by tomorrow. The streetlights glowed like embers in the night, and Tomas' large, warm hand found his and took it.

“I really enjoyed tonight, Jake,” Tomas murmured, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I was wondering if we could be in a relationship again.”

Jake started. “What?!” He blurted out.

Tomas stared at him, perplexed. “You don't want to?”

Jake shook his head quickly, “It's just—I thought you wouldn't be into me?”

“I kissed you when I first saw you,” Tomas reminded him, gently.

“Yeah,” Jake said, “But I thought that was just because you're, you know. European.”

Tomas laughed, a loud, warm, booming sound, “European, yes! But I am German, Jake,” He squeezed Jake's shoulder, “For a German, it was like getting down on one knee or something. We are usually more private, but America has changed me.” He looked down at Jake, blowing a lock of dark hair out of his face, “So, how about it?”

“Oh,” Jake said. And then: “Oh yeah. I'd love to.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tomas lifted his hand and watched blood run from the cut on his finger.

“Ah, fucking shit,” He said, matter of factly.

Jake laughed, passing him some plasters.

“What's so funny?” Tomas asked, running his finger under the tap and putting on the plaster.

“It's just the way you say it,” Jake grinned, “You're cussing but it's such a flat delivery.”

“My mother-tongue is German,” Tomas sighed, going back to chopping vegetables, “I learned English when I was nine or so and used it mainly to swear without my grandma finding out. Nothing sounds rude in english, to my ears. I could hear the dirtiest shit in english and I wouldn't blink but the minute it's in German—” Tomas shuddered, “— _Phew_.”

Jake grinned. “Maybe I should learn some German.”

Tomas raised an eyebrow, dumping the chopped peppers into the frying pan, “That's sweet, Schatz.”

 

*

 

Tomas pulled his dancing shoes on, the soft fabric nearly slippery under his fingers. His costume was a blinding red, like a severed aorta, and gleamed sunset orange over the planes of his shoulders. He stood, checking the suit in his changing room mirror, and running a comb through his hair for what must have been the fiftieth time.

The door opened behind him and he spun around.

“Jake?” Tomas beamed, pulling him inside. “What are you doing here?”

Jake carded a hand through Tomas' perfect hair, hand gripping his skull lightly. Jake's lips pressed into the shell of Tomas' ear, and whispered.

It was like a bolt of electricity went through him. Tomas straightened quickly, scandalized, mouth dry. As he saw the smirk on Jake's face, Tomas' gaze darkened, even as a blush spread, hot and heavy, up his neck and to his ears.

“You bastard,” Tomas glared, grinning. His face was tomato-red and hot enough to light a cigarette at three paces.

“Have a nice dress rehearsal honey,” Jake smirked, ducking out of the dressing room.

 

*

 

Tomas left a trail of butterfly kissed down Jake's sternum, hands gliding along his thighs. Tomas' adam's apple brushed Jake's abdomen his heart lurched, the coil of heat in his hips twisted near-painfully. Tomas was beautiful in the moonlight, a stretch of trim muscles and smooth, fluid movements. The cool winter breeze that drifted in from the night seemed to solidify the moment, the moment where Tomas' lips closed around—

The phone rang.

Tomas glanced up at him and Jake sighed, nodding reluctantly.

“Ah, Guten Tag Mutti,” Tomas answered, flushing, and paused for a moment. “Ja, Ja, Jedoch—”

Jake could hear a blast of german on the other end.

“Ja, Ja,” Tomas repeated, leaning on Jake's stomach, “Mutti, entschuldigung, bitte—… Ja.”

The cold was more irritating than sexy now. Jake tried to pull the blanket higher over him, but most of it was trapped under Tomas. He rolled his head back.

Tomas sighed, “Mutti—”

“Just tell her we were about to have super hot sex and you'll call her back!” Jake snapped.

The german on the other end stopped suddenly.

Tomas grimaced. “You know my mother can speak english, right?”


End file.
